


Warmth

by artysmartypigfarty



Category: Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accidents, Coma, F/M, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24064921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artysmartypigfarty/pseuds/artysmartypigfarty
Summary: Beetlejuice returns to the house in Winter River, hoping to pick up where he left off with his cursed bride and reluctant family. Only when he comes back he find Lydia is not as lively as he left her.Oneshot inspired by BD-Z's prompts!
Relationships: Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz, Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 6
Kudos: 101





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Had a bit of fun with this, one shot inspired by Zelly's prompt list. Hope you enjoy!

He hadn’t meant to be gone that long. A vision quest, he’d claimed, said he was going to go find his Dad. He wasn’t sure if he would even be welcomed back. She’d stabbed him after all, right through the back ending his very very short life. Then again, though Beetlejuice loathed to admit it, she had a reason to. He had attempted to kill Darla or whatever her name was, though he made up for it by stopping his Mom from taking them out. As far as he was concerned, they were even. He hoped Lydia would feel the same, she could be a vindictive little bitch, but he’d seen something in her eyes when he said goodbye to her that day. 

Beetlejuice didn’t understand feelings but could recognize them in breathers. It was an essential part of his craft. You couldn’t con someone if you didn’t know how they were feeling, didn’t use those feelings against them. Teasing every molecule of serotonin that arose with each false promise until they were begging for his aid, that was how he got the job done. 

Lydia proved a challenge when they first met up until he figured out her currency. She was so focused on throwing her life away that there had been little for him to grasp at until he focused on that one word, invisible. He knew that feeling, that was his afterlife sentence. Banished to be invisible in the mortal realm. It was a fate worse than death, to see life happening around you and be unable to affect it. To guide souls into the afterlife but not be able to join. For Lydia, it was watching her life move without her. Her father proposing to Delia, moving them to Connecticut, fracturing every piece of memory she had to hold onto.

That was the thing that made Lydia different. They understood each other. There were no illusions about what the other was. She was a bratty grieving adolescent on the verge of adulthood trapped in a world where no one saw her. He was a millennia-old demon devoid of empathy banished to a place where no one knew he existed. Both trapped on one side of the glass, unable to effect change in the world they lived in. 

Being seen. That was what drew them together, those three days in the house together when they made everyone see them. Where they terrorized the neighborhood and ensured the therapists of winter river had referral lists a mile long. Surely this connection would also stand out in Lydia’s mind. He wondered if she missed him, or if she had moved on. Time worked differently when you were dead. There was a chance she was older now, out of the house, off at school? He surmised it was time to find out. 

Disappearing in a puff of smoke, he reappeared outside that lonely house on the hill in Connecticut. He could have appeared in the living room, right in the middle of whatever mundane activity they were up to. Probably doing a puzzle, huffing cleaner whatever it was Breathers did to pass the time. Who knows maybe Chuck was screwing the ginger again. He listened for sounds beyond the door, phasing through it when he heard none. What met his eyes was unexpected. 

He’d seen the house in three different variations. The first time was in the Maitlands style. Wallpaper and antique furniture, an HDTV wet dream for cat ladies. The second was in the modern style Lydia’s father put forth to show sophistication, style, or what-fuck-ever bullshit he puffed out when he held the disastrous dinner party. All it meant was a coat of purple paint and bad art. The last manifestation was easily his favorite. Dark leathery walls, striped snakes interweaving like artwork reminiscent of sandworms. Spikes, a couch that made for an excellent springboard. That was the space he shared with Lydia, tailored to their preferences. Each prior manifestation of the room held its own style, its own story what connected all of them was the sense of life within them. That was what struck him about the living room now. It was devoid of it.

The living room lacked the light and activity he came to associate with the house. It didn’t matter if the inhabitants were prattling on about scares, sales, or sandwiches. There was always a sense of something coming next, life, something new. Not this time. The air felt stale, the room untouched. Something wasn’t right. Clearing his throat, he considered how best to get attention. 

What was the point of making a grand entrance if there was no one to watch you arrive? He wanted the fanfare, shout of protest, the screams from the audience. Hell, he’d take a crucifix waved in his direction if that’s what it took, better then the eerie silence that met his return. 

‘Screw it,’ he thought as he disapparated coming into existence up in Lydia’s room. That was who he was here to see anyway, secondary scares to Deetzland could be fun, but he missed his wife. Only this room was empty too. 

Lydia’s room bore markers of her. Ranging from the photographs on the wall to the four-poster bed draped with gauzy black curtains. Her closet was full of dark fabrics, a singular yellow dress standing out sharply against the others. He chuckled remembering the night she wore it. Her camera was here, as were a couple other mementos he knew she was fond of, but where the fuck was she? He picked up the device in his hands, if she saw him holding it he’d probably get a reaction out of her. He could also grab a souvenir from her panty drawer, that would definitely get a response out of her. Chortling he decided it was best to just wait for her to come home. She’d walk into her room and find him there. Maybe he’d scare her for once. 

Flopping himself onto her bed, he busied himself, flipping through her sketchbook. Lydia wasn’t like most breathers who wrote in a diary. She chose to commemorate her thoughts in pictures. Whether they were ones she took or drew, she used them to express her feelings. Occasionally there’d be a few words scribbled here or there. He smirked, noting some stripes. Well look at that, there were a few entries about him? How sweet. He’d have to tease her about that when she got home, till then he’d wait. 

And wait,

And wait, 

...And wait. 

Darkness fell over the room. Still, he waited there any minute now. He sensed beings moving downstairs. Her room was evidence that they still lived in the house. The movement he sensed meant others lived here as well. Something was off. He tried to hold out, that scare was going to be so worth it. She’d flip the light on and scream once she saw him. There’s no way she’d anticipate him. Still, as time passed, the allure of the scare started to fade. He wanted to see her now, dammit. 

“What the fuck is taking so long” Maybe it had been minutes, or days or weeks, he wasn’t entirely focused, but the point was it had been too long. He dragged himself to Connecticut for a reunion not to be bored to pieces waiting for paint to dry. He’d already done that with the Maitlands. 

Ah, the Maitlands, there was an idea. He slammed the sketchbook shut and disappeared again. This time he reappeared in the attic. Finally, a goddamn reaction to his presence. Adam leapt up in shock, upsetting the canister of varnish he had been using to restore a piece of furniture. Even in death, the Maitlands clung to their stupid hobbies, pathetic. 

“What the hell are you doing here!?” He exclaimed, causing Barbara to fly into the room, not literally, of course, even though she should have learned she was capable of it at this point. 

“Not the welcome I was hopin’ for...and people say I’m rude,” Beetlejuice scoffed, dusting off his suit “So I guess you didn’t miss me...what a shame...anyway lookin’ for my wife.”

“She’s not your wife, you pervert,” Barbara objected, placing her hands on her hips. He took their irritation in stride. He expected his welcome to be met with a mix of emotions, and truth be told, he hoped his act of matricide to save all their asses might have endured a bit of affection in their hearts but apparently not. 

“Actually, given the ceremony worked and we both said ‘I do’ she technically is, tho’ I s’pect there might still be hard feelings on your end…” he pointed his finger like a gun at her making a clicking sound with his forked tongue “anyway no exorcism planned this time don’t worry just wanna talk to the kid.”

“You can’t” Adam responded, taking a rag to clean up the spill caused by the demon’s appearance. Beetlejuice noted that the couple’s expressions dropped. Were they honestly disappointed he’d come back to see Lydia? He didn’t give a damn about the icy reception. Okay, maybe he did, perhaps he wanted a bit of agitated fanfare was that so wrong? 

“The fuck do you mean I can’t” Beetlejuice countered “Whatcha gonna do, stop me?” he leaned forward, taunting the man clad in green plaid. 

“You can’t because she’s not here,” Barbara interjected, her voice sounded broken, her hands twisting as they clasped.

“Well, obviously, I KNOW that Barbara,” he snarled, his time apart made him almost forget how useless the pair could be. And to think there was a point where he thought they might be his ticket out of the afterlife. “You think I’d have come found you two assholes if I knew where she was? Her shits still in her room, when’s she coming back” 

“We don’t know.” 

They were screwing with him. They had to be. They clearly forgot who they were dealing with, no one in their right mind would be this willingly obtuse with a demon who could eviscerate their very essence. He turned his palm upward, summoning a glowing ball of emerald flames. 

“If you two don’t start givin’ me some clear goddamn answers right now I-”

“She’s in the hospital Beetlejuice, She’s in a coma...there was, there was an accident” Barbara choked on the words. Adam leapt up from his seat and took his wife into his arms. 

The flame in his hand died, smoke curled in the air from where it once had been as he processed the news. Hospital, Coma, Accident. Icy fear crept over him, his hair flickering purple for a brief moment before turning to red. 

“How” He growled, stalking close to the Maitlands with barely concealed rage. He shot out additional hands to grab them each by the throat pressing them against the wall. “Tell me what happened and where the fuck to find her.”

“It was an accident-she was driving” choked Adam, the man didn’t need to breathe, but the Demon’s hand shot waves of spectral energy through it, shocking him each moment he dared to withhold information. “There was an accident on the bridge, she swerved to avoid another car and-”

“We were lucky she survived...s-she escaped the car, and they were able to get her out of the water...but she,” Barbara’s voice broke off. It didn’t matter how much energy Beetlejuice applied. They didn’t know anything beyond what the Deetz told them. Of course, they hadn’t been able to see any of what happened as they were trapped in the house. 

“Tell me where to find her” Beetlejuice retracted the hands, dropping the couple to the ground. They scrambled to their feet, checking the other for injuries. He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes...honestly, they were already dead. It’s not like he could really hurt them. 

“We told you, the hospital,” Barbara snapped at him. Beetlejuice raised a brow at her. 

“Oh I’m sorry, let me just pull out my fuckin’ map of this boring as shit town you idiots chose to settle into” 

“Its here, look” Adam walked over to the model of the town he kept in the attic. His pet project since he hadn’t been able to leave the house anymore since his passing. “Big brick building, she’s on the-” Adam turned to make sure the demon was listening, but he was already gone. The moment he had an inclination of what sort of building to look for, he was gone. Having vanished in a cloud of smoke to leave the shellshocked Newly deads behind. 

Lydia in a coma. 

He didn’t know much about comas just that the breathers that crossed over after having one were some of the most annoying in his existence. The moment they entered the waiting room, they were desperate to speak to anyone. Trapped for months on end not speaking to a single soul only to find out all the words they’d heard, the pleas left by their loved ones went unanswered up. What was worse was the ones who didn’t want to cross over, the ones who screamed out to deaf ears not to pull the plug, to wait, to give them a chance. Screaming into the mindless void until the machines keeping them in the living world turned off, condemning them to the afterlife. 

He didn’t imagine Lydia would be one of those. He pictured his surly bride appearing in the waiting room unimpressed, looking to expedite the process so she could get on with figuring out her new strange and unusual afterlife. He couldn’t get himself to smile at the notion. However, the thought of Lydia dead filled him with a cold feeling, emptiness. It didn’t make sense. He was dead. Breathers died, why the fuck should it matter?

He recognized it was the same feeling he felt the night they met. Hearing her mournful voice read over the suicide note trying to seal her fate to escape the world she could no longer stand, he felt an icy grip on his black heart. Lydia was meant to be alive. She didn’t understand what gift she had. Her existence was that of a vindictive, morbid little troll, but he wanted to her to be able to survive. It had been an unintentional side effect of the con. He kept her from killing herself. In the process, she brought him into the living world, and they learned what it meant to be in existence together. Sure he hoped she might continue that over after he forced her into marriage but no such luck. With all the time he’d had to think over the incident, he wondered if she might have gone through with stabbing him if he hadn’t attempted to stab Deena...no Darla...no… He waved the thoughts away. Whatever the redhead’s name was irrelevant. He was here to find his Lydia, get answers, and hopefully get her out. 

The hospital was teeming with souls. Souls on the verge of crossing over, clinging to life, new souls entering the world, deceased breathers who were terrified to cross over and instead walked the halls uncertain of how to move on. There was only one soul he cared about. Being this close, he could sense her, holding on. He closed his eyes to sense her out, appearing inside of her room in an instant. 

He wasn’t prepared for the sight that met his eyes. She looked impossibly small in the hospital bed, her frail form hooked up to heavy machines, all who made whirling, beeping sounds as they worked. He hated all of them, grabbing the one connected to her finger to tear it off with a snarl. The instant he did so, he regretted it. Shrill alarm bells erupted in the room. The light above her bed glowed red as did the one outside of her door. 

Footsteps warned of orderly’s approaching. Instantly he faded into the wall, using his powers to become invisible. He watched as Breathers clad in blue rushed into the room, taking stock of the scene and restored the mask. Hot on their heels was a disheveled looking Delia. Her eyes were red and bloodshot. 

“What happened!?” she shrieked “I just went to use the restroom…” 

“It looks like she slipped her finger-tip monitor off” a pale-faced Breather responded, she had short red hair, a pockmarked face and an aura that threatened anyone who considered messing with her. “Its all set now, sometimes Coma patients have phantom movements like this, it is a good sign,” she offered to the woman clinging to the doorframe.

“So she might wake up? Soon?”

“We don’t know, the best thing we can do is wait and watch, she’s okay for now.”

“Okay…” Delia responded in a shaky voice. Her bun hung at the base of her neck. It appeared like all efforts made to keep her hair erect as her usual style had fallen to the wayside. Instead, it hung limply around her head, like she hadn’t bothered resetting it for days. She shakily made her way over to take up the chair beside the bed. 

“Did you get to use the restroom before?” the nurse gave the woman before her a knowing look. Delia shook her head taking Lydia’s small pale hand into her own. “Okay, c’mon up, then You getting a UTI isn’t gonna make her wake up faster.” 

Her voice left no room for argument. Reluctantly Delia stood up and followed the nurse out of the room, receiving a lecture about taking care of yourself when caring for a sick loved one. Alone in the room again, Beetlejuice made himself visible. 

He floated over to the bed, conceding that the breathers had a reason for keeping his Lydia hooked up to all these machines. He tried to adjust to the sight, the subtle rise, and fall of her chest, the deathly pallor to her skin, the dark circles beneath her eyes. He settled himself on the bed, inching his fingers to slip under her hand. 

Cold. 

She was cold, the fingers that once brushed his nose taunting him about saying his name felt like ice. Death crept over her skin, threatening to pull her to the other side. For as long as he knew her, Lydia was never cold. She always radiated a heat that made touching her exciting. A brush of her hand, her’s warm his icy the temperate feeling they created together. He loved the way her breath felt against him when she laughed, like a warm breeze. He loved…

Loved?

What the hell was he thinking? He was a demon, demon’s didn’t love. They especially didn’t love flat-chested little breathers that existed out of spite. At best he tolerated Lydia, found her company amusing but it wasn’t anything more than that. He told himself to let go, what did he care if a breather died. He knew what was waiting for her. She’d pop up in the waiting room to cross into the abyss lost in the endless nothing that was the Netherworld. 

Instead of moving away from her, he found his hand gripped her’s tighter. The cacophony of voices in his head becoming too much. He screwed his eyes shut, making clones appear to talk out the points, trying to make some sense in his erratic madness—the room filled with his countenance, all in varying states of color. The red one seething, boiling with rage, approached Beetlejuice. 

“Who the fuck cares? It’s just a breather?” the clone looked dismissively down at the teen. 

“But its Lydia, Lydia’s different!” the smallest of the clones approached, this one spoke in a higher voice he wasn’t altogether familiar with this clone, or at least associated it with a smaller version of himself, one back before he was banished. 

“Different?” snarled the red clone, louder than the rest “She stabbed us in the back, how the fuck does that make her different?”

“We uh...did try to kill what was her name?” A clone in the corner spoke up, this indigo. At his question, each of the Beetlejuice’s called out a variant of a D-name. “Either way...just saying she had a reason.”

“Fine, whatever if she had a reason...still the fuck should we care breathers die. Can’t get any fun with her like this anyway... S’ des the kid is flat as a board. 

“Looks like her rack got bit bigger” another voice behind Beetlejuice spoke, he turned his head to see a magenta version of himself lifting the sleeve of Lydia’s hospital gown to look beneath. With a flick of his free hand, the original Beetlejuice cast this one back. 

“Nothin on the racks at Dante’s”

“Yeah but the girls at Dante’s aren’t Lydia…” Beetlejuice found himself saying aloud. “She’s got a different kind of life to her, everyone down there is just dead, like really dead...this...oh fuck.” 

The realization hit him as swiftly as the car struck Lydia on the winter river bridge. He loved her. Somehow despite all, they’d been through. At some point, all the teasing, flirting, extortion and lying changed, nurturing this seedling of affection that grew into something more in his long-dead heart. The clones were still talking, all arguing with each other all over Lydia. Beetlejuice looked to her, turning his attention to her and taking in her appearance as if for the first time. 

“You stupid fuckin’…WHY?!” He jumped up releasing her hand and pacing. “OF ALL THE BEINGS, OF ALL THE THINGS YOU COULD DO!? YOU LOVE THIS FUCKIN PIXIE!? GOD YOU’RE SUCH A SCREW UP! SHE’S NEVER GONNA CHOSE YOU!?” He paced, beating at his head, recreating the scenes from his early existence. The clones around him broke out in a chorus of verbal abuse as well. Driving up every bad thought, every ounce of self-doubt and loathing he carried. He was a small demon once more, Hypatia’s voice screaming at him as she chucked bottles of Netherworld booze at his head. “NO ONE IS GOING TO LOVE YOU! ALONE! INVISIBLE! WE DON’T NEED ANYONE! WE DON’T-” he broke off as a soft sound met his ears. 

A feeble whine. He turned around to see Lydia stirring, shifting. “EVERYONE SHUT-UP” He roared, banishing them with a wave of his hand. He rushed back to her bedside, taking her tiny hand delicately into his own. She groaned again, but there…a touch, her fingers...they moved, squeezing his hand slightly. She seemed to be mumbling something. He couldn’t make it out at first. Leaning close, he heard it, soft, warbled but still there. 

“Beej…”

“Lyds,” he whispered, bringing his free hand to brush against the side of her face. He moved closer, his entire focus on her. Unfamiliar sensations crept through his body, feelings he only associated with Lydia. Feelings that brought back memories of screaming girl scouts and delivery drivers. He felt warm. It affected every part of him. He suspected his hair shifted in color though he wasn’t sure what color it would be as he’d never felt this way before. 

Lydia’s lips moved, Her eyes still firmly closed, distress written across her features. Delicately Beetlejuice brushed his thumb across her mouth. His newfound warmth meeting the cold feeling to her skin. 

“Bee-” 

“C’mon Babes... I’m right here,” he said softly, putting his head to rest against her’s. He willed every power in existence to bring her back, to let him see those amber hues dancing with light again. Even for a half-dead chick, she looked hot. His eyes went to her lips, the soft pink flesh beneath his thumb. Should he? It was stupid, some shit out of a fairy tale. They weren’t a fairytale. He wasn’t some handsome prince waiting to transform into anything. She was no princess. Still, this might be the only time his lips could touch her’s and feel warmth. 

The thought of her crossing overacted as a catalyst, tilting him forward as if the room suddenly shifted onto a slant. He pressed his lips against her’s, Gentler then he’d ever moved before. There’d be time for roughness later. For now, it was just his lips against hers. Soft flesh meeting weathered skin that smelled of graveyards and whiskey. 

Beetlejuice had a reputation as a sexual demon. He’d certainly gotten around, kissed his fair share of corpses, demons, monsters, pretty much anything he wanted. In all, he’d kissed. He never expected this. He never expected the feeling it brought over him or the spark that buzzed across his lips to her’s. He didn’t expect her lips would part and move, the muscles tensing as she kissed him back. 

All at once, he pulled back to look at her. Her eyes fluttered open, brows knit together in confusion. “Beetlejuice?” her voice was hoarse from lack of use. Eyes glassy she looked at the demon before her. Confusion of how she’d gotten here, last she could recall she’d been driving. There’d been a dog in the road, another car, a crash that sent her through the wall of the bridge. 

She remembered dangling, trying to think of what to do, could she crawl out of the sunroof as half the car hung over the river? She remembered reaching up and opening the sunroof slowly moving to climb out before the vehicle lurched forward. She remembered the icy feel of the water as it filled the car, trapping her, threatening to rip her life from her. She’d struggled to escape from the car, desperately swimming for the surface as her body weakened from lack of oxygen. She remembered it being just out of reach before it all went dark. 

“Am I dead?” she asked, bringing a hand to rest on his shoulder. That had to it, the reason he was here. She must have died, and he was ready to collect his cursed bride. The hand that rested on his shoulder bore an odd clunky white piece of plastic resting on her index finger. She moved to take it off before a hand stopped her. 

“Wait, Kid, they’ll come running if you do that...” instead Beetlejuice offered his other freehand “No you’re not dead” he looked relieved. Lydia felt confused looking at him. Her brain felt foggy. It felt like returning to school after winter break. She’d never seen his hair pink. His touch never felt warm before. 

“You kissed me,” She said plainly. 

“I did” He countered 

“Why?” the second she asked, she watched his shoulder’s rise up in defense. Indigo flashed in his hair. His face darkened as he shook his head muttering under his breath. He pulled back from her starting to get up from the bed. “No,” she called, grabbing for him again. He stopped as her fingers feebly grasped at the cuff of his striped suit. 

“I want…” she struggled to find the words to explain “do it again.” 

Now it was his turn to be surprised. Hardly needing a second invitation, he rushed forward again, cupping her face tenderly as his lips devoured Lydia’s greedily. The same spark, the rush of feeling ran through him. Her lips parted and beckoned him inside. She tasted of life, of scares and moonlit conversations. He forced himself to be gentle with her despite everything in his being calling out to take her enthusiastic response as permission to let loose. He pulled back, looking at her hungrily. She licked her lips, panting. The machines next to her were beeping faster. 

“What the hell took you so long?” she asked, “was starting to wonder if you’d ever have the balls to do that,” brushing her hand on his face with a smirk. He raised a brow at her, lips curling up in a smile revealing sharpened incisors. 

“Should have known you’d be into this you freak,” he countered, snapping his fingers, so she lifted into the air only to settle back in his arms as he laid on the bed with her “Of course, who wouldn’t be...have you seen me?” 

“You look like a decaying bloated zebra,” she countered, snuggling against him. The hospital was cold; in this instance, he was warm. She associated his touch with the icy chill of death, but something in him changed. Warm but fleeting, like the moments when the sun breaks through the clouds on an early spring day. It didn’t matter. She wanted all of it. 

“Yes, but, like I pointed out before...apparently you’re into that” As quickly as things between them changed they settled. It was like no time had passed, Beetlejuice hadn’t left, Lydia hadn’t been comatose. Just two shifting from friends to lovers realizing they cared about each other in their own morbid fashion. “Don’t do that to me again, Lyds, can’t deal with the whole bein’ dead thing.” 

“Don’t leave again, and we have a deal.” she turned her face up, pressing her chin on his shoulder. She felt exhausted, all but sagging against him as she rested. Beetlejuice felt content to run his fingers through her hair. All too soon, he heard footsteps approaching. The breathers wouldn’t be able to see him. He made no efforts to remove his arms from his cursed bride. 

The people that came into the room, however, he knew well. 

“YOU!” came Charles’ booming voice. He pointed an indignant finger at the demon, his face bore apparent signs of fatigue and stress. Delia screamed, not at Beetlejuice but seeing Lydia awake. She and Charles rushed forward, the later crashing his hand onto the call button. 

“Me,” Beetlejuice drawled, shifting away to stand beside the bed, Lydia’s hand still in his own. “Had to come back, Chuck looks like bad things happen when I’m away” The comment earned a glowering look from the Deetz patriarch as he hugged his daughter. He pulled back to start in on the demon, aiming to get a word in before the nurses came in. 

“Beej...come back. I want to be warm again” Lydia’s utterance stole the words from Charles’ mouth. He stepped back, cupping his head in his hands, trying to make sense of everything, days of lost sleep jumbling his thoughts. Beetlejuice contented himself with resuming his post, scooping Lydia up in his arms and remaining invisible as the workers came in and tended to her. 

It was a miracle, they explained. Sometimes Coma’s worked that way. The smallest change, a bit of brain activity could spark something and bring the person back. There was some medical research on it, but its cases were rare and injury-specific. Only two in the room knew what brought Lydia back. A spark, a connection an admittance to feelings born months ago on a dark roof in the woods of Connecticut. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment below and let me know what you thought!


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